


Gives You Hell

by CharlieDC



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anger Management, F/M, Fights, Fluff, Hockey, Protective!Chowder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 22:26:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7456246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieDC/pseuds/CharlieDC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <a href="http://bittleforpresident.tumblr.com/post/147082259304/pataters-alrightshittyknight-my-favorite">Based off this post.</a>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"She knows he has a small problem with knowing when to step down, especially when he’s stepping up for other people."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gives You Hell

“What happened out there was hell.” Coach Hall addressed them after the game. They were all crowded around and listening one way or another, most of them taking and applying the ice packs Lardo was handing out. “I never want to see you guys get in a fight like that ever again. To hell with hockey being a contact sport, playing that dirty is shameful and unsportsmanlike-”

“We were not playing dirty!” Shitty spoke low and winced, shifting the ice pack from one side of his jaw to the other. The bruises high on his cheekbones and around his jaw already purpling. 

“I wasn’t saying you were the ones playing dirty, Knight.” Coach finished, “I was saying that what  _ that _ team pulled out there was disrespectful to us, your parents… to the game itself."

The game ended early. Too many of North Dakota’s team members got injured or ejected from the game from trying to play dirty (or fight dirty). Every action has an equal, opposite reaction, naturally, because the Samwell Men’s Hockey team has too much pride and honor to let some punks from the northwest pick on their teammates.

Jack remembers separating Holster from some D-men on North Dakota’s team, he remembers the cold chills down his spine. He turned around and saw Ransom getting high-sticked by the other team’s center and Bitty over by the net pulling people off each other.

It was hell. He hadn’t been in a fight like that since the Q. 

Coach sighed, undid his tie and walked over to his office. He turned and addressed the team once more, “Seeing you all stick up for Chow really made me proud as a coach. You have each other’s backs, and that’s all I can hope for out there on the ice.”

He closed the door, and the team looked at each other, confused.

“Chow?” Holster said, looking from player to player. “What did he mean by that?”

“I don’t know know,” Ransom walked around the locker room, throwing away some old tape, “I don’t even remember how it got started, but I guess Chowder’s one hell of a goalie,” he let out a small laugh, “right Chow?”

Ransom was met with dead silence.

“You guys Chowder isn’t even in here,” Dex spoke from the corner of the locker room where he, Nursey and Chowder had their lockers lined up next to each other. He was putting his teammate’s things away in a giant duffle, “because he’s in the training room getting looked at with Nursey.”

“What!?” It seemed, as if all at once, the world stopped. Four heads turned towards Dex with astonishment, like they were truly that oblivious. Yeah, things get rough and confusing out on the ice. When fights break out, sometimes you can’t tell who threw the first punch - you’re just trying to help someone up off the ground and get back in the game. 

Jack, Shitty, Ransom and Holster were all staring at Dex, the frozen question hanging in the air, thick between them. The tension was palpable, Dex could reach for it, grab it and throw it away (if he could). The attention was making him uncomfortable, so he just turned back around and kept packing things up.

Then Bitty spoke up from the other side of the room, “Y’all are clueless.”

The pairs of heads turned their eyes on him. He continued, “Nursey was going in to pull the puck out from under 23, but he got sandwiched between him and their 15. They wouldn’t let him go and slammed him into the boards. Chowder blocked their goal and that’s when Holster got the puck, skated to the blueline to play it and shoot. Chowder noticed that they weren’t letting Nurse go and just kept checking him.”

A shudder ran down his spine, the team sat and waited for him to finish.

“Chowder, bless his heart, started pulling them off of Nursey right as the ref was coming over to penalize them. I skated over to see what in the hell was going on but-” He looked at Dex, “Chowder was hooked and that’s when it got ugly. Nurse was getting slammed into the boards,  _ again,  _ and Chowder got so… angry.”

“I’ve never seen him that mad before in his life! Sure, we all’ve only known the frogs for such a short while but he doesn’t seem the type to get so riled up. I think at that point, it was personal. He got up and just about charged their 23 into the boards; then he started throwing punches.”

The room was quiet, Dex was gone with the duffle bag; disappeared down the hall to the training room.

“Chowder?” Jack asked.

“Yes.” Bitty confirmed. 

“Chris Chow?” Holster asked, putting his skates away.

“I know, I know! I can’t quite believe it, but he was sure messed up after that fight, y’all.” 

They all put their things in their respective duffles. The team helped tidy up the rest of the locker room and made sure Nursey and Chowder’s lockers were cleaned and they both had all their stuff. Most of them went their separate ways, but the crux of the first string was wandering down the hall to where the freshman were.

They all had made their way down this hallway many times on their own. Jack with a shoulder injury, Holster with a twisted ankle and Shitty cracked his jaw once on the ice! Ransom dislocated his arm -  _ twice _ , not to mention Bitty having to be carried off the ice after many checking scares, too. They all walked together in silence, until they saw the door and heard Lardo’s voice.

“Just because I’m team manager doesn’t mean I’m your nurse. That also doesn’t mean that I don’t know how to clean a cut so  _ sit still- _ ” and there was a very clear hissing sound, as if Lardo poured lemon juice on an open wound.

“Calm down, Nurse, it’s just peroxide.”

“It  _ stings _ .” They could hear the sound of Dexter’s laugh, “Shut up.”

As they rounded the corner they saw Chowder and Nursey sitting on the trainer’s bed side-by-side. Dex was in the corner in a chair, phone out, and obviously texting someone. They looked up as the team filed in, Nursey still grimacing as his cuts were attended.

Nursey had a few bruises blossoming his face, mainly on his left cheekbone - where he was slammed into the boards. His knee had a nice gash on it (from a hockey stick or a skate) and it was definitely starting to purple. Lardo was cleaning it, and had a med kit sat in between the two as she propped Nursey’s right leg in front of her. There were patches of band-aids and bandages scattered across Nursey’s upper body, more notably a few large ones on his chest. All in all, he did not look good.

Chowder, however… Chowder looked like he went running with the bulls.

His left leg was wrapped all up and down, a knee brace on and his ankle wrapped in  _ another  _ ACE bandage. He had open cuts on his face and shoulders, massive bruises fanned across his body. The biggest ones were on the bridge of his nose, right under his left cheek and two below his left shoulder and above his right pectoral. He had his left arm in a sling, which kind of made the whole thing  _ real _ . 

Chowder was willing to go  _ that far  _ for Nursey - to get in a  _ sling  _ for Nursey. To  _ punch someone in the face _ because they were being over aggressive and downright  _ awful  _ to his teammate. He cared enough to throw down on the ice right there, risk getting thrown out of the game and beaten up -  _ for his teammate _ . He’d probably do the same for any of them, and vice versa.

“You should see the other guy.” He said, a laugh trailing the end of the sentence. Bitty rushed over to the two of them, standing behind the bed and absentmindedly running his fingers through Chowder’s hair, rambling about how he’s so proud they stuck up for one another and  _ never pull that again, boys, or so help me- _ .

The rest of the team helped them grab their stuff and they walked them back to their dorms, which were closer to the rink anyways. Jack and Ransom helped Chowder back into his room, Chowder’s roommate close to losing his shit at the state he was in. They walked out, leaving him to rest, and met up with Shitty, Bitty and Holster as they were leaving Nursey and Dex’s shared room down the hall.

The cold air nipped at the backs of their necks as they shoved their hands in their pockets and trekked back to the Haus.

“We got one hell of a goalie, guys.” Shitty said, breathing out a tuft of hot breath into the freezing air. The rest hummed in agreement, a silent understanding that Chris Chow is not only one hell of a goalie, but one hell of a friend.

_/ \\_

The second time, they’re not so much  _ surprised  _ as they are shocked.

You see, the first time, not many  _ saw  _ Chowder get angry. Nursey was busy being thrown into the boards and Bitty was watching from a distance, but even he didn’t see it up close.

The play was dead. When the play dies, you’re supposed to get back to defense for the faceoff. You’re supposed to stop skating around with the puck against your stick. You’re supposed to get the puck back to the ref.

Not shoot it towards Chris Chow’s head.

It’s a penalty, obviously, because the whistle blows and you’re  _ shooting a puck _ for  _ no reason _ other than to be an unsportsmanlike prick.

When it hits Chowder in the temple, it hurts. He rubs at his helmet and ignores the dull throb, skating over to confront Yale’s left winger. The ref is talking to him and Chowder’s just about to say something when Bitty and Ransom are skating over, in front of him, to talk to #45.

“Are you going to apologize?” Ransom asks, because, rude, you should  _ apologize _ . Even if it wasn’t an accident, you’re already embarrassed enough because you’re being pulled off the ice after shooting the puck clearly after the play was over. 

It’s not just the Canadian in him, either, because Bitty (the spitfire he is) is right by his side. No one hurts their goalie. They stand a good distance from the offender, unconsciously shielding him from Chowder.

The forward scoffs and turns around, which is when Bitty interjects.

“You don’t shoot pucks at our goalie and get pulled off the ice without apologizing.”

Which, shit, by the sound of his voice he is absolutely  _ not fucking around _ .

“And what’s a fairy figure skater like you going to do about it?” 45 turns around and glares at Bitty, disgusting smirk and all, and  _ that  _ is when they draw a crowd.

_ That _ is when Chowder speaks up.

“What did you call him?” He asks, and the ref is there, asking them to break it up because they have a game to play, not a conversation to start. 

“You heard me; a fairy figure skating  _ fag _ .”

At that point, Chowder drops his stick, breaking between Bitty and Ransom, to promptly skate over and knock this homophobic left winger right on his ass. In front of the ref, in front of the team, in front of the stadium. It takes Ransom, Nursey  _ and  _ Jack to haul Chowder off the top of the forward and get to the bench, where he is suspended from the game.

His fists hurt, because he’s pretty sure he cracked the shielding on #45’s helmet, but it was worth it. The penalty, the dull pain and the bench time; any and all of it.

Bitty skates over to the penalty box where Chowder is drinking some water after the next play. He glides up right next to Chowder and holds his fist out for a bump, Chowder obliges and Bitty smiles.

“Thanks.” He says. “I’ve never had someone punch a guy in the face for me.”

“Anytime, Bits.” Chowder says and he’s flashing his braces to the whole arena because he’d stick up for Bitty any day, any time, any situation. 

As Bitty skates away he mumbles, “One hell of a goalie,” under his breath, smiling all the same.

_/ \\_

The third time they all see Chris “lose it”, respectively, it’s not at the rink. It’s not even in broad daylight, because it’s some time after one am, sophomore year, and they’re all at a Kegster.

He’s elated right now; he’s got a nice buzz going, Caitlin around his arm and giggling into his neck. They won their game earlier today because  _ he  _ stopped a forward from scoring against them in the last ten seconds of the game. It was a winning save, and he caught it in his right glove; the whole team went apeshit.

He  _ caught a puck _ hurtling towards him at 80 miles per hour - and while Chris has caught pucks before, this felt more  _ real _ . It felt more earned and appreciated, because the celly was raucous and shook the stadium. 

He smiled wide at the memory, and kissed Caitlin just to make the night all that better. She smiled back at him, running a hand through his hair and looking him in the eyes, bright and sweet and happy.

She’s given him (the team too, but mostly Caitlin) the best freshman year, and sophomore year is turning out pretty amazing, too. He really couldn’t ask a better way to assimilate into college life; he was terrified at first. But when the team let him lace up his skates and do what he does best, it was a great outlet. Then Caitlin came along and made him reevaluate what happiness and love really meant for him, because it wasn’t give and take it was more than that.

It was the moments in between, when you didn’t have to do either except enjoy the company and fall for them in the process.

“I love you.” He says to her. He thinks she doesn’t hear him over the loud pulsing music, but next thing he knows she’s tackling him over the back of the green couch and kissing him all over, whispering reassurance that she loves him too.

“Get a room!” Dex shouts over the noise, but he’s not one to talk because he’s half in Nursey’s lap and very obviously drunk by the pinking of his skin.

Then Caitlin is getting up to go to the bathroom and she runs straight into two of the lax bros. One of them grabs her by the hips and starts to rock them back and forth, her obvious objection going right over this guy’s head. She’s shoving at his chest but he’s holding her close and she keeps  _ pushing  _ and  _ shoving  _ but he isn’t budging. 

Chowder gets up to do something but this guy’s friend is standing in front of him, blocking his way. He sees out of the corner of his eye, Nurse and Dex getting up and slowly making their way over, tentative. He pushes the guy aside and when he gets back in Chowder’s face, he starts looks over his shoulder to see the guy pulling Caitlin away.

Nursey and Dex are by his sides, telling this guy to leave. Behind them, Tango and Whiskey locks their phones and put them in their pockets; coming closer to see if they can do anything to help. Chower is side-stepping, going around to get Caitlin away from this asshole that’s  _ groping her.  _ She’s yanking her hands from his grasp that he has on her wrists, and she’s stumbling away when he’s crowding in her personal space again.

“Get away from her!” He shouts. It’s not to be heard over the music, it’s that he can’t imagine any way where he can be calm enough to not scream right now. Seeing some lax bro come in and try to assault Caitlin - any girl in general, really - during  _ his team’s  _ Kegster, at the most liberal school on the east coast, gets his blood boiling. He’s going to lose it if this situation doesn’t deflate soon.

“Make me, shithead.” He slurs, because  _ of course  _ he’s drunk.

“You touch her again it’ll be the last thing you do.” Chris is trying to navigate Caitlin behind him as the guy loosens his grip on her. He’s more focused on Chris insulting his ego (and pride) than getting a hard on at the moment, so Chris counts it as a win. As long as Caitlin is safe he’s okay.

“Who gives a fuck, she’s just a slut anyway;” He spits, “wouldn’t fuck her if I was sober.”

_ That  _ is what sets Chris over the edge. 

Say what you will about Chris Chow; say his goaltending is weak. Say he is a shithead and can’t get a puck out of the net. Say you hate his guts. Say any kind of racial slur that pops into your head, you’ll get a mouthful from his teammates before he can get a word in edgewise.

Say his girlfriend is a slut? 

That’s what’s going to get you Chris Chow shoving lax bro #1 out of his way, hard enough that he flops  _ over  _ the end of the green couch and at the feet of Justin Oluransi and Adam Birkholtz, who haul him off his ass and out the door of the Haus. You get Chris Chow in your face, asking you to get the fuck out or he will, personally, fireman carry you out of the building.  _ Telling  _ you that if you touch his girlfriend, yes they are dating but let the record show in no way does Chris believe Caitlin is - in any way -  _ his _ , or say anything along the lines of the previous statement again, it’s going to look a little like hell fire, blood on the walls (if he’s that unlucky) and probably a game suspension. 

So the guy smiles, because he knows that he’s getting a reaction, but when he glances over Chris’s shoulder he notes the change of the room. He tries to analyze what’s going on around him through his drunken haze.

The music stopped. Somewhere between “who gives a fuck” and Chase being dragged out of the house, it went silent. The sounds he registers are that of solo cups crinkling, his heart rate increasing and the dull conversations going on around him. Most of the people in the common area are looking their way; he slides his eyes back to Chris and wonders just how many people here know him.

He’s wearing a Sharks hoodie; so he’s at least on the hockey team.

The Haus is the hockey team’s stomping grounds.

Option A. get the fuck out, grab Chase, and haul ass back to their rooms.

Option B. spit in this kid’s face and call his girlfriend a slut again.

Option C. vomit.

Wonderfully enough, he goes with option B.

Now very few people could really give an accurate depiction of what happened next. Sure, there were  _ plenty  _ of people there (Jack Zimmermann would say that there were  _ too many _ people there, but it’s really who you ask), but that doesn’t mean everyone can tell you what happened with 100% clarity.

Rachel Diaz claims that the lax bros were picking fights after running through the Haus and knocking over the keg and pouring the tub juice out onto the lawn.

Holster will only be able to tell you what happened with Chase (his underwear went missing, yeah, but only Ransom can fill you in on that part). 

Caitlin, however... Caitlin will tell you about the night Chris Chow told her she loved her.

And proved it.

When she finally got a good grip on his arm, she pulled Chris off of the bro he was punching. She pulled him up to his feet, grabbing him by the shoulders and looking into his eyes. Nursey and Dex were grabbing the guy by the shoulders and escorting him out, but she wasn’t paying too much attention to that. Chris had this look in his eyes, and while Caitlin has never seen it before in person, she saw what happened at the games against North Dakota and Yale. 

She knows he has a small problem with knowing when to step down, especially when he’s stepping up for other people.

“Chris-” She says, trying to get him to focus on her and not a dead space, “ _ Chris look at me. _ ” She’s moved her hands to either side of his face, holding him steady as his eyes train on hers. 

Then his eyes widen as he realizes what just happened.

“Talk to me.” She says. He takes a deep breath and looks away.

“My hand really fucking hurts.” She smiles wide at him after he speaks, looking down at his fist and flexing his fingers. He winces; Caitlin wonders why he did that if he said it hurts but, whatever, he’s a dork and she’s in love with him.

After they get some ice and kick most of the people out of the Haus, the core of the members are lounging around the living room. Bittle and Jack are standing by the staircase, Shitty and Lardo having an animated discussion about Nintendo’s startup… Ransom and Holster are sprawled on the couch regaling about what happened to Chase after they threw him outside, Nurse and Dex sitting at the foot of them, listening and laughing. Next to the arm chair, Tango and Whiskey are speaking heated Spanish, dropping Shitty and Jack’s names every so often, dragging their attention to the conversation briefly. 

Then there’s Caitlin and Chris, squished into said arm chair; Chris nursing his fist with an ice pack and kissing Caitlin on the cheek every once in awhile. They’re all still buzzed, easy music lofting in the background and it’s winding down. A few stragglers and close friends are hanging around, some in the kitchen (Bitty had to take a few deep breaths to know they wouldn’t touch anything) and some in the hallway; relaxing. Caitlin sees some teammates that tagged along tonight talking to her left by the hallway, and it’s nice. It’s comforting.

“Okay it’s almost 3 and I’m still reeling from the tub juice, so-” Shitty starts, hopping over the back of the couch to squeeze in between the two D-men. “Chowder, tell me, what the  _ ffffuck  _ happened with the lax shitfaces from earlier?” He smiled lazily as he sipped a can of PBR.

Chris blushed and hid his face in Caitlin’s soft, silky hair (he really likes it, okay) as he giggled. Caitlin laughs next to him, mumbles “lightweight” and adjusts her position on her boyfriend’s lap.

“Chris defended my honor tonight.” She says proudly. Wrapping a hand around the back of his neck, she looked at him in the eyes, “He beat the shit out of some asshole who tried to assault me.”

The statement itself is very matter-of-fact. Normally, it would be said with a tone of disgust, rage or… at least some raised volume for emphasis. Caitlin Farmer, however, says the statement with a tone of endearment. An indication of warmth and happiness.

She says it with love, okay, she’s so far gone for this boy it’s unbelievable.

“I don’t think, like, maybe,  _ beat the shit _ is  _ right _ .” And Caitlin is trying so hard not to laugh because he is  _ so drunk _ , “More like - um - punched in the face?” He looks to Nursey on the floor who’s nodding along, smiling as he sips a beer bottle.

“Wait so some guy tried to like, fucking grope you or something?” Shitty asks, offended in the highest regard.

“He tried to dance with me and I really didn’t want to, so he threw around some insulting-” 

“-Degrading-” Chowder cuts in.

“-upsetting,” and she’s looking down at Chris again, smiling, “words. They were not nice, bottom line.”

“So I got really pissed and, um-” he giggled, for some reason, because violence is hilarious and it’s 3am and he’s very intoxicated right now, “So I got really angry and I started throwin’ punches.”

People are laughing, which is a great sound to hear right now. It was kind of a shitty moment but it’s over and Caitlin knows that as long as Chris is there to protect her (not like she can’t protect herself, it’s just difficult with you’re 120 pounds against 240) with his friends to help and her friends to back them up, it’s just a good feeling. This moment, right here, three in the morning on Chris’s lap in the Haus after the hockey team won an amazing game - it feels so wonderful. She feels at peace and happy and blissful; looking around at the similar faces she knows that these people are on the same level as her, one way or another.

Looking back down at Chris she tilts his head back to look at her. When he does his face goes from soft confusion to a slow spreading smile, then he’s leaning in to kiss her. She brings her other hand up to cup his cheek, smiling back as they kiss.

She glaces around at his teammates, and addresses them, “You guys have one hell of a goalie…” Caitlin runs her fingers through his hair, bringing it around to cup his cheek again.

He pecks her again, and when he pulls back she looks at him and says, soft enough for him to hear but loud enough that she doesn’t care if the team picks it up, “I love you.”

Chris’ face lights up, “I love you, too.” And he’s kissing her again.

Near them, as they break away but still too wrapped up in each other to pay attention to the world around them, they hear Shitty sniff a little and ask, “Isn’t that grounds for a fine?”

“Nah,” Holster says, and there’s definitely a good amount of drunken tears being shed right now, “they’re good, bro.”

Chris Chow sticks up for the people he loves, even if it costs him some small injuries himself. It’s worth it, though, in his book. Especially if it gets him to moments like these.


End file.
